Beautiful Mask
by Simkaye
Summary: Ellie always wanted to be like Brittany, but after a freak accident, surgeons must rebuild her face. When the bandages came off, Ellie is more beautiful than Brittany. Now even her huge crush, Drew, is noticing her. Will Theo put her on the right path?
1. The Fall Festival Preparations

**O-kay! Hello, everyone, how are you all today? Here it is... the winner of my 'contest', 'Beautiful Mask'! *random cricket chirps* **

**Anyhow, here it is. My first chapter. Let me say some things about it first. Like first of all, this story is half a fun thing to do, and half a school practice experiment. I started a new class for Creative Writing and am working on some Allusions and some Metaphors, Similies, and other figurative language.  
Also, the language and way the story is written (the style) is different. Rose isn't working on this one with me. Instead, meet my friend, Sharon! I figured out a few weeks ago that she is a major Chipmunk fan as well! *excited claps* She supported me so much after my treatment when I came back to school. She is super nice and really funny. She and Rose met a few days ago at a visit to my house, and they got along pretty good. We are all one happy family! (sort of, lol) **

**Also, here is another thing I want you to watch out for. OOC-ness. (lol wait what?) The characters may seem a bit out of character, and I apologize for that. We had some issues writing, and we were a bit lazy to re-write it. This boy, Drew, that Eleanor likes, she does have a huge crush on. (LOL we learned from someone who has experienced huge crushes) and so we decided it would be interesting for the plot if Theo knew Eleanor had a crush on him and was sort of trying to help her in the beginning. This IS a Theodore/Eleanor story, NOT a Drew/Eleanor story. **

**Sorry about this, this story was supposed to be longer, having a better ending, but I just don't feel too well, and am way too lazy to type about 1000 new words. (Puts it in the next chapter) There will be a bit more Theanor fluff in the next chapter. This one has just GOT to pass. Sorry 'bout it. **

**Last of all, dedicated to my friend, BraveTheElements, who so kindly has helped me through all my hard times, and helped me improve my writing as well. We are such huge Theanor fans! **

**So whoever wasted a few minutes of their lives reading this, you should be rewarded with this story. :D**

* * *

The rodent is staring at my sister Brittany.

In the rodent's defense, it's hard not to stare at Brittany. Actually, it's a phenomenon similar to rubbernecking; only in this case people don't stare at my sister because she looks like a car wreck. Men, women, children, animals, and zygotes (I'm guessing) can't take their eyes off Brittany because she is absolutely, undeniably perfect. Like airbrushed "men's interest" magazine kind of perfect.

"Herman?" I say, since his real name is Herman Rodale and I only refer to him as the rodent behind his back.

The rodent doesn't answer. He's either ignoring me or so deep in fantasyland he doesn't hear me.

"Herman?" I shout.

This not only gets Brittany's attention, but the attention of the techie geeks who, like me and the rodent, have gathered to help Brittany turn the gym into a "magic apple orchard" for the fall festival. The fall festival is our school's lame imitation of a homecoming dance. But unlike in a real high school (where I've heard everyone goes to the dances regardless of their position in the high school popularity hierarchy), only the drama, dance, music, and art majors (well, about half of the art majors) attend the fall festival. Us techies stay home and watch _Mythbusters _on the Discovery Channel.

"Herman," Brittany says sweetly as she puts her thumbs in her belt loops and hikes up her low-rise Sevens. "Eleanor wants you."

The rodent looks as if someone has just slapped him out of a trance. "What?" he says, wrinkling up his long, pointed nose as his little beady eyes dart around the room.

"This needs to be hung right there," I say, shaking a "magic apple" (also known as a red-sequined Styrofoam ball) and pointing to a spot on the wall behind him.

"Yeah, okay," he mumbles. And then he goes back to staring at my sister again.

I should be used to guys ogling my older sister as if she were a Victoria's Secret model holding the newest Sony PlayStation. It happens no matter where we go. Brittany and I are the only kids in our family, besides our older, smarter sister, Jeanette. She went to a different school than us, one especially made for _science_, her favorite subject. Of course, Miss Miller didn't object. So I was, of course, left with Brittany, who rules _this _school. Brittany is tall (think model), gorgeous (think bathing suit edition of _Sports Illustrated_), and blond (think bathing suit edition of _Sports Illustrated _model with golden flax hair spun by silver-winged fairies). My heritage may explain my stature, my thick, dirty-blonde hair, and olive complexion, but it's not responsible for my oversized nose, my nonexistent cheekbones, my oversized chin, and last, but definitely not least, my buck teeth.

Life is so unfair. Which is why I toss rodent the ball, hitting him in the head.

"Ouch," he says, rubbing the place of impact.

"Sorry," I grumble.

My aggressive behavior and sour expression have not escaped the notice of my sister, who takes me by the arm and leads me away from the group. "What are you doing?" she whispers. Even her voice is melodic. God.

"It was an accident," I say defensively.

Brittany peers into my eyes (brown with a little hazel mixed in, my one and only reasonably good facial feature), and I can tell she's trying to read my mind. "I know you weren't crazy about this whole decorating thing," she says finally. "But I appreciate your help."

"No problem." I turn away and begin chewing on my right thumbnail. I don't want Brittany to see inside my head, mainly because I'm not exactly proud of what's going on in there. I love my sister, I do, but this idol worship gets to me sometimes. I really shouldn't care that my fellow tech majors have spent the past three hours decorating for a dance that none of them have any intention of attending, all the while acting as if Brittany is doing them a huge favor by just _allowing _them to help her. I should be downright delirious with happy-tude that my sister is getting what she wants, even if she always seems to get what she wants without putting in any real effort. But deep down, I just wave the proverbial white flag of surrender.

"I didn't have anything else to do anyway," I add, commending myself on my graciousness.  
"That's true," Brittany says absent mindedly, pulling the proverbial flag right out of my hands.

"I could have gone to a café," Theodore announces, not even bothering to look away from his illustration. Theodore is an excellent artist who has been given the task of painting the giant backdrop for the dance floor, a life-size illustration of an apple tree. As my official best friend, Theodore is the only one of my peers who's actually here because of me. Theodore is short and a bit chubby, but with his big green eyes and ruffled golden-brown hair, he is definitely one of the best-looking techs (not that that's a huge compliment; as anyone with one good eye could see, we aren't an attractive bunch). "I could be drinking an iced mocha cappuccino right now," Theodore says, referring to my favorite beverage, as he uses his paintbrush to sweep a brown line across the canvas. I smile widely. Theodore, always thinking about food.

"Why don't we call it quits for today," she says, reaching toward me and pulling my thumb out of my mouth the way a mother would. I wipe my thumb on my green dress, embarrassed to have been hacking away at my nail like an eager puppy attacking a furry slipper. As a kid, I sucked my thumb, which is why my two front teeth resemble those found on a walrus. Somewhere near my eighth year, I made the transition to just chewing on my nail and cuticles, but it hasn't seemed to help my teeth much. My sister never had that problem, of course. She was gifted with two rows of straight white piano-key teeth and entered puberty looking like a poster child for Colgate toothpaste.

"This looks great, Brittany," Kat says, as if, Brittany, not me, were responsible for the floor design.

"Thanks, but you really should be complimenting Eleanor," Brittany says. "It was her design, and you guys are the ones who provided all the elbow grease. Bavo!"

Our school was built as a private Catholic school. Even though it's two stories have been remade to accommodate the school (complete with a dance studio, an art gallery, a theater, and a production room for us techs), some remnants still remain: the giant, stain-glass window behind the old sweeping marble staircase, small dark classrooms; a bunch of lockers that look like they're from the Druid period; and a dark, windowless gym.

"I think we should celebrate," Brittany says. "I'm treating everyone to Slurpees at the Seven-Eleven."

"Slurpees?" Kat says excitedly. It was as if Brittany just offered her a new blade for the four-hundred-and-fifty dollar table she saw she got as a gift from her parents last Christmas. "Your sister's great!" she says to me.

"I'll meet you at home," I tell Brittany, obviously underwhelmed by her greatness.

"You don't want a Slurpee?" Brittany asks nonchalantly, pulling her sleek black sunglasses out of the quilted leather purse that she paid two hundred dollars for on eBay. Brittany always dresses for the occasion, and today she looks like she's dressed for a glamorous hayride: skin-tight jeans, her new combat trooper boots, and a red T-shirt accessorized with a red-plaid scarf that is looped casually around her neck.

Although more than one teacher has suggested she become a model or do some commercial work, Brittany is a total theater snob. She claims she might eventually consider doing some 'film work,' but only after she's established herself as a serious actress. And non one doubts that she will. She's that good. Brittany's refusal to 'sell out' and cash in on her beauty only added to her goddess-like status at school. As for me, key-grip status is as good as it gets.

"No thanks," I say.

The truth of the matter is that I want a Slurpee more than the rodent wants two minutes with Brittany in the backseat of his '97 Honda Accord. But I don't think I can stand watching him and the rest of the techies fawn over my sister any longer. There is only so much I can take.

"Theo and I will stay and finish up. I'll meet you at home." I watch as Brittany tosses her silky hair and heads out of the gym like she's working the red carpet in front of adoring fans and hungry paparazzi. I look over at Theodore, who's still diligently painting away.

"What was that?" I ask Theodore.

"What?"

"I loooove Slurpeeeeees," I say in a really low voice as soon as everyone is out of earshot. "I didn't think Kat loved anything except that table saw she keeps bragging about."

Theodore half-shrugs. "Yeah, well, Brittany is popular and nice to everyone."

"Too nice." I sit down and my dress feels tighter than it did last week. "Did you see the way the rodent was looking at her? If I were Brittany, I would've…"

Theo raises an eyebrow. "Would've what?"

I try to imagine what it would be like to have someone staring at me in awe, or at just a part of me, like my boobs for instance. In fact, my boobs are twice as big as Brittany's. Unfortunately, so is everything else.

"I would've told him to keep his perverted little eyes to himself," I say adamantly.

"Please, it's pathetic." Theodore says. "He's obsessed with Brittany, and the closest he'll ever get to scoring is helping her hang sequined Styrofoam balls."

As soon as Theodore says the word _obsessed_, my mind flashes to Drew Metselaar, the guy/divine being I've been secretly in love with since I saw him on the first day of school my freshman year. I was looking for the production studio and had wandered down the wrong hall, which was crammed full of drama majors, laughing and sauntering along in a cool, because-I-said-so manner. As I stood outside the door to the auditorium, I tried to get up the nerve to ask someone where the production studio was, but I was too intimidated to approach even the lesser-known drama kings and queens. I was praying that Brittany would suddenly appear when I heard a deep voice say, "Lost?"

He was by himself, sitting on a window ledge away from the crowd, an open book in his hands. He had short, black licorice-colored hair, sparkling blue eyes, and was wearing black combat boots, washed-out jeans, and a black T-shirt. He looked older than the rest of the kids, more sophisticated, like he'd traveled in Europe for two years. Immediately, it felt as though there was a knot tightening in the center of my chest.

Ever since Drew pointed me in the right direction, the mere glimpse of him is enough to make my heart beat faster and my hands shake. Even though I know a divine being like Drew will never be interested in someone like me, there is no doubt in my mind that if he asked volunteers to scrape old gum off the bottom of the gym bleachers for the fall dance, I'd be the first in line, even if I had to challenge the entire drama queen population in a kickboxing match in order to get there.

The realization that I might have something in common with the rodent depresses me so much that I heave a big sigh. And I sigh even harder when I notice that some of my flab is hanging over in the upper part of my dress. And the sides. And possibly even the back. "Theoroe," I say, as SI start chewing on my nail again. "Do you ever think about changing majors?"

"No."

"You could get into the music program." Most of us are techies because we wanted to attend this school and the production is the only major that doesn't require a grueling audition. But Theodore has taken music lessons for years and he not only has a great singing voice, he can play the drums as well as the piano. And the guitar. He was even in the chorus of _The Music Man_ last year (because the director begged him to do it.)

"Why would I want to change majors?" Theodore asks.

"I don't know," I say. "Don't you ever get tired of the way everyone around here treats us? We're second-class citizens."

Theo puts down his brush and eyes me intently. "Are you thinking about changing majors? I bet you could get into the visual arts program."

In fact, I would love to change majors – but not to visual arts. No, there is only one major I want, and that's theater. I fantasize all the time about what it would be like to be Brittany, the star of the show, the beautiful ingénue. I dream about a world where Drew not only notices me, but _likes _me.

But instead of saying this to Theodore, I decide to give him a little demonstration of my (albeit limited) talent. I clear my throat as I get up and walk to the front of the gym, which has been roped off as a make-do dance floor. "If you cared about me," I begin; melodramatically reciting the monologue my sister is doing in the senior productions. I have run Brittany's lines with her so often that I know them by heart. "You would've remembered him, remembered how he used to smile at us." I look at Theodore, for approval and see him trying to hold back a grin as he pretends to ignore me, staring down intently at his work.

"Remember the way he used to tousel his hair?" I continue, only louder. "The way he would run his fingers through it when be was tired or upset? Alas, no! You don't! You have forgotten!" I close my hands and hug my chest, just like Brittany does when she says the line. I'm so in the moment (as Mr. Ted, my drama instructor, would say) that I'm close to tears. "I lost myself and my soul a year ago today." I place a hand on my forehead and swoon. "When God carried away our son."

And then I hear it.

_Clap, clap, clap._

I open my eyes slowly and look at Theo. But he's not clapping. The applause is coming from the back of the gym. It's coming from Drew Metselaar.

"That was great," Drew says.

Oh my God. OH MY GOD!

How long has Drew been standing there? I glance at Theo, the only person in the world to whom I've confessed my secret love. Theodore has stopped painting and is giving me a look that can only be described as pure sympathy with a dash of cringe-worthy embarrassment thrown in for kicks.

"Thanks." I suddenly let out a giggle that sounds like an AK-47 machine gun. Theodore's face turns bright red.

"You should try out for a play," Drew says. A devastating smile follows, which renders me totally powerless. So I just stand there and gawk at him like the techie geek everyone knows and expects me to be.

"Have you guys seen Brittany?" Drew asks when he realizes I'm so mentally challenged, I can only utter the word _thanks._ "I was wondering if she wanted to go over this script."

Drew, like Brittany, is starring in the senior productions, a total coup for a junior.

"She's at the Seven-Eleven buying Slurpees for the common folk," Theodore pipes up and rescues me.

Drew lets out a chuckle and scratches the back of his neck. I practically gasp when the bottom of his shirt creeps up. "There's a Seven-Eleven around here?"

"There's one on Cross Street," Theodore says impatiently. "A few blocks away from the market."

"Ah, the Cross Street Market," Drew says, raising his eyebrows in recognition. "I love that place. Especially the kielbasa at Mr. Sausage."

Theo throws me an odd look. I, however, think it's adorable that Drew likes the Cross Street Market and the kielbasa and immediately add it to his ever-growing list of attributes and reasons why he's totally perfect for me.

"Me too!" I say enthusiastically. "Have you ever tried the extra spicy Polish sausage? Oh my God! Amazing!"

Theodore looks at me in horror, sending me a telepathic message: _Warning! Warning! Fat unpopular girls shouldn't talk about loving any type of sausage with cute popular boys! _

I glance nervously at Drew, who just smirks and says, "I'll have to try some next time I'm there." And then, instead of leaving, he walks toward the dance floor. Towards me.

Okay, this is one for the journal. It has already been established that Brittany isn't around, so why is Drew still here? Any other guy in his league would have been long gone. It's especially surprising because Drew isn't exactly the chatty type. Although he's respected by everyone for his talent, and all the girls think he's really good-looking, he pretty much keeps to himself – but not in that creepy neighbor who's secretly a child predator kind of way. Anything but, actually.

I sigh and make a deal with God, listing all of the things I would be willing to give up forever if I could kiss him. Just once. Brownies… Oreos… Coke Slurpees… extra spicy Polish sausage.

"Wow," he says, admiring Theodore's work in progress. "This is increadible. It looks so… real."

Twizzlers… Twinkies… Doritos… sweet Italian sausage.

"Thanks," Theodore says. I can tell form the glint in his eye that he's proud of himself. As he should be.

Drew continues to wander around as though he was in a gallery. I think about what it might be like to walk hand in hand with him though the American Visionary Art Museum, gazing at paintings and photographs and talking about the difference between the imagined and the real.

"You guys are doing all this for the fall festival?" he asks.

"Yep. I'm going to be painting the apples," I announce proudly, as if that tidbit will so impress him that he'll ask me to marry him and have his children.

"Eleanor can draw a great apple," Theodore says a little too loudly, obviously trying to help me score some points.

"Are you guys going?" Drew asks as he puts his hands in his pockets.

I look into his eyes, even though his gaze keeps shifting around the room. I had thought they were just blue, but up close they're a blue-green. If I were going to paint them, I would use a combination of colors, beginning with a sky blue before adding a tinge of emerald green. "You mean to Mr. Sausage?" I mutter.

"To the fall festival," Theo says in a labored tone that translates into _Snap out of it, dork! This is your big break! You're talking to Drew. Don't blow it. _

"No, we're not," Theo once again responds for me.

A curious expression emerges on Drew's face. So freaking adorable. "Why not?"

Theodore picks his paintbrush back up and twirls it in his left hand. "We owe it to the techies who have wandered these halls before us to stay home and watch our _Battlestar Galactica _DVDs."

Drew laughs. It's not a sarcastic laugh, but a nice, relaxed, hey-you're-funny laugh. Listening to it is as exciting as watching the curtain go up on an opening night. "I don't blame you. I'd stay home, too, if my mom wasn't making me go."

Any other teenage girl, including my sister, would think Drew's statement is a giant red flag. Not only did he admit that he'd rather be home on a Saturday night than at a school function with his friends, he also kind of admitted to being a mama's boy. But I don't see this as a bad sign at all. In fact, I want to take down my trusty proverbial white flag and surrender to Drew over and over again. But then I remember something.

Brittany already took it from me.

* * *

**So did you like it? Even a little... I tried to make it funny (in a weird way). This is from the point of view of a 'Fat' girl. It is true some people do these kinds of things, and they think and feel just like us. I kind of wrote this for those who are bullied for their looks every day. **

**Sharon says, **

**_"Now, we wrote in mind knowing lots of people would post some sort of sympathy for kids who are bullied. I sometimes just feel like telling them to keep their crap to themselves. Most kids we know may act nice or not seem to pay attention to a child who is unattractive or overweight etc. But the second they're with their friends, they'll joke and snide about them anyways. Don't deny it, pretty much everyone has done it. And you know what?_**  
_**It still hurts."**_

**Lastly, Chippettes, Chipmunks belong to ... not me. (I just don't know how to spell their names and is too lazy to look them up.  
The rodent, Drew, Kat (LOLYES) and and any others belong to me. **

**Review, please!  
~Simkaye, out! (snaps fingers) **


	2. Barbie Dolls

**Omigosh I'm finally updated! *cricket chirps* **

**First of all, let me thank you guys soooo much for all of the reviews! 12 reviews? That's a whole new record for me! OMIGOD THANK YOU SO MUCH! A million thank yous and tears of gratitude for all of you!  
As some of you mentioned, Brittany IS really nice in this story. It's something for the plot development. You know, she can sometimes ACT nice, just to be popular and etc. Well, it is a bit OOC (lol it means Out Of Character, as I just realized a few seconds ago, happy me) so... yeah. Sorry about that. **

**Anyways, thank you all, you are so kind, I love you all!  
Oh, and sorry for the slow plot development. I worked really hard on this, and if I do, that means slow plot development. To Periosha, the plot twist won't happen until... like, the fourth or fifth chapter or something. LOL so sorry about that... I want you guys to get a real taste of Ellie's life before it's changed forever- NO WAIT *tapes mouth* **

**Can't ruin the 'suspense'! **

* * *

By the time Brittany is finished with her salad, she's onto me. "You're awfully quiet," she says.

Brittany and I are eating alone. This isn't unusual because Miss Miller is usually out somewhere, busy driving around, and Jeanette always stays late after school and isn't home sometimes as late as eight or nine at night. Brittany and I have our own little domestic routine. Everyday we take turns making dinner and eat it at the table together.

"I'm eating," I say. "Its really good. I love the..." I stab a piece of salad and hold it up to the Tiffany (looking) lamp Miss Miller found at the garage sale and is convinced it is worth a million dollars. "The lettuce. What kind is it?"

"The look on your fact is not due to radicchio," she says.

I put down my fork. It's obvious I have no choice but to confess. "I can't stop thinking about what Drew said."

"About trying out for the play?" Brittany asks.

"Yeah," I say, nodding. "I mean, I know he was just being nice and all."

"Drew's not that nice," Brittany says. "You have talent. I've told you that a million times."

I sit up straight and smile at her. I'm still not a hundred percent certain she is telling me the truth because, quite frankly, Brittany is too nice to tell me of she thinks Drew is full of crap, but still. "Really?" I ask.

"Really," she says with determination. "Let's see," she says, thinking. Allen Silberstein is producing a play on December. He talked to me about doing it. There might be a part in there for you. It would be fun if we could be in a play together."

I think about the last play my sister got me into. I should have known something was up when I heard the name of my character was Arse McDoody. Unfortunately, by the time I found out I had been cast as the backside of a horse, it was too late to bow out.

"No thanks. Besides, Theo said he'll never do that again." Theodore had been cast as the front, so I'm not sure what he was still complaining about.

"No," Brittany objects. "I'm talking about you having a role. A real role."

"Like a person?"

"I can't make any promises, but I'll talk to him."

"Remember the way he used to tousle his hair?" I bark out suddenly, attempting to impress Brittany with my ability to get in the moment just like (finger snap). "The way he would run his fingers through it when be was tired or upset?"

Alas, no! You don't! You have forgotten!" I slam my hand down on the table for emphasis, smack into the tub of butter.

"Oh…" she says calmly, totally unfazed by my melodrama. "Speaking of Drew, guess who he asked to the fall festival?"

Drew asked someone to the fall festival? Not that I ever expected him to ask me, but I still feel a little winded, as if I just found out my beloved boyfriend of the past two years has been cheating on me.

"Who?" I manage. I pick up my napkin and begin wiping off my hand.

"Haley Thomas," she says.

Good grief. _Haley Thomas? _He was cheating on me with a giant, bubbleheaded, Barbie doll? A girl who drew smiley faces and hearts on all her notebooks and once passed out cards giving people a "free smile"?

"Apparently she's liked him a long time," Brittany continues, oblivious to my discomfort.

Drew is the first and only secret I have ever kept from my sister. I haven't told Brittany about my crush because I know what she would do if she found out. Brittany is extremely protective of me and she would hate the thought that I didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of hooking up with the guy of my dreams, and so she would go to great lengths to reassure me that I actually have a chance at going out with him. And then any time anyone ever mentioned his name she would turn to me with a look of pity mingled with outright grief that broadcast her sentiment to the world: poor, ugly, lonely, Eleanor.

"I guess they hooked up a couple of times over the summer, but Drew wasn't interested in anything serious. So now Haley is totally psyched."

"They _hooked up_?" The thought of Drew, my intellectual hero, in the arms of the girl I once caught walking out of a bathroom stall with Mac Gerard (she must have him one of her cards because he had a _big_ smile on his face) makes me want to woof up my radicchio.

"Yeah," Brittany continues. "He's got a little bit of a rep. Like, he doesn't' let anyone get too close to him and keeps to himself. Some people think he's kind of stuck up."

"I don't know about that," I say.

Brittany puts down her fork and looks at me. I shift my eyes away. "I always thought he seemed kind of sweet."

She rolls her eyes and flips back her long, silky hair. "Who knows?" she says, pushing her plate away even though she has only eaten half her chicken. She reaches across the table and pulls my thumb out of my mouth. "Yuck," she says, examining my thumb. "Look at your nail. You've bitten it down tot the quick. And your cuticles are all chewed up. Are you wearing that polish I got you?  
In attempt to break me of my disgusting habit, Brittany bought me some polish that tasted like puke and was guaranteed to squash my nail-biting habit in two days. Apparently none of the test subjects had been quite as determined or addicted as I am, since I wore it for a week and all I got was a headache from consuming all those gross chemicals.

"It doesn't work," I say, pulling my hand away form her and snagging the untouched chicken leg off her plate. And out of the blue, I get a visual: Drew with an inflatable Barbie doll, lip-locked, and making out. I put the chicken down as my thumb drifts back into my mouth.

"What's wrong with you tonight?" Brittany asks, looking at me suspiciously. I rarely leave food behind.

"I got a stomachache from all the vegetables in the salad," I say quickly, achieving the impossible. Blaming her for my misery and changing the subject.

"Oh," Brittany says. "Sorry."

Oh great. Now in addition to being nauseous, I feel like I just washed her favorite white shirt with my indigo Levis. "You know I don't like carrots." There. That's better.

I yank my thumb out of my mouth, and stand up. As Brittany walks upstairs, I stack the dishes in the sink, determined not to think about vegetables, Drew, his inflatable doll, or the fall festival for the rest of the night.

I wait until Brittany is in our room before stuffing my face with Oreos. They've never failed to settle my stomach in a jiff.

I'm hoping by the time I get upstairs, Brittany will have forgotten all about the fall festival and moved onto more exciting things, like what's on TV. But as soon as I get upstairs she starts yammering away again. And since out room is only fourteen feet wide (like all the other row houses) and only two floors, there's really no place to escape.

Brittany spins in her chair so she's facing me. She gives me a gentle smile. "You know, you could go to the dance too. You've just never wanted to."

I roll my eyes in disagreement as I begin to nibble on my thumb cuticle, fighting back a tsunami of self-pity.

"Yeah right," I say sarcastically. Just to demonstrate that the conversation is truly over, I walk to the closet and open the door. But before I can pull out my pajamas, Brittany's old dollhouse hits the shore. "Ouch!"

"Are you alright?" Brittany asks, jumping up and rushing to my aid.

"You need to get rid of that!" I angrily kick the dollhouse. It lands in front of the full-length mirror on the inside of the closet door. "It's not like you're ever going to play with it again."

"I'll figure out a way to fit it so it doesn't keep falling out," Brittany says, as she hurries inside the closet and begins re-arranging her shoeboxes.

My sister loves that silly old dollhouse. It was a gift from an old friend, and since they moved before I was born, it is a one-of-a-kind original. It has porcelain sinks, is wired for electricity, and has built-in tables, beds, and chairs. Unfortunately, we had kept it in the basement of our old house, and when the basement flooded, the dollhouse did, too. Now it looks like it had been hit by a hurricane, complete with mildew stains, peeling paint, and warped floors. Miss Miller wanted Brittany to get rid of it when we moved, but it was agreed that as long as we kept it in our closet and out of the way, she could keep it. Because there is no room whatsoever in the house and our closet is stuffed with Brittany's clothes, every time Jeanette or I open the door, we have to keep the house steady with one foot so it doesn't fall out. For the past few years I have been a good sport about it, but my patience is wearing thin.

Brittany is inside the closet, shoving boxes around in a desperate effort to appease me. I glance at my refection in the mirror on the inside of the closet door. I look from my bulbous nose down to the roll of fat peeking out from under my white T-shirt and flopping lazily over the top of my blue jeans that, until now, I actually thought looked okay on me. I step away from the mirror. It's not the dollhouse or my foot that upset me. Nor is it my sister. It's my lousy life. "It's okay," I say. "Just stick it back in there. I should've remembered to put my foot up."

Brittany smiles at me appreciatively. "You know what," she says, stepping over the dollhouse and taking my hand. "I'm thinking this whole going to a dance with a guy thin is pretty stupid. Friends go with friends, right? Why not sisters? Let's just you and me go together.

Brittany and me? Of course!

I imagine myself entering the dance, basking in the warm and bright glow of my sister's magnificent aura. And then I imagine my sister looking at me with the same tight, miserable smile she had when she had to take me to the eighteen-and-under club. And who could blame her? Friends only went with friends and big sisters only took their little sisters when their little sisters were too loser-ish to be asked by anyone else. And as tempted as I might be to drag my big sister down to my level, can I really do that to her?

Why yes, yes I can!

* * *

At lunch the next day, Theo is staring at me. Not that this is unusual, since we always sit by ourselves during lunch, so there's really nothing else to look at. "Is everything okay?" he asks. "You seem distracted or something."

I haven't told Theodore that I'm obsessing about this whole Drew thing, but I'm pretty sure he knows anyway. He can read me like a book.

"I'm just thinking about what Drew said yesterday," I say, putting down my sandwich. I can'ts tand the awful-tasting glop they serve in the cafeteria, so I always bring my lunch. "About trying out for a play."

"And?" he asks.

"I was thinking it might be more fun if you tried out, too."

Theodore laughs. "Not this again."

I play with the end of my striped tie as I look behind Theodore, towards the corner of the cafeteria where Drew is eating lunch. He never eats lunch in the cafeteria. In fact, this is the first time I've ever seen him in here. He's sitting next to Haley and has his arm draped casually around her shoulders.

"I just think it might be fun," I say.

"No thanks, Arse," he says. "Or do you prefer Mr. McDoody?"

The thing about Theo is that he really possesses an amazing sense of self. I admire so much how confident he seems, like he has a life completely separate from school.

"Miss McDoody, if you please," I say mechanically, as I continue to stare at Drew.

"What are you looking at?" Theo asks. He twists around in his seat, following in the direction of my gaze. "Oh," he says. "Dream boy."

Dream Boy. Ha-ha. Like it's just a dream that I'll ever be able to go out with him. How hilarious. Slap my knee and hold me back.

I know Theo didn't mean it that way, but I still feel like I stepped on a jellyfish. "I'm just thinking about what he said about the dance."

"Refresh," Theodore says, turning back to face me. "What did he say about the dance?"

"Just that we should go."

"And that's why you want to go? Just because of some offhand comment Drew made?"

"No," I say, as the jellyfish becomes a piranha. "I want to go to the dance because I think it will be fun. And also... Because... I'm tired of sitting home alone."

"Alone? Ex-cuse me! I just made two batches of cheese rolls! I was going to surprise you."

I couldn't help but crack a smile. "I told you I wanted to have egg rolls this time."

Theo tucks the rest of his sandwich and ham into his bag. "Alright, if it means so much to you, fine."

"Fine, what? We can have egg rolls?"

"Fine, we can go to the fall festival."

"You'll go?" I ask excitedly. I suddenly see myself making the grand entrance, complete with a new hairstyle and physique-shrinking dress. "Thank you," I say.

"On one condition," he says, grinning. "We eat the cheese rolls first."

That's the thing about Theodore: he always knows the perfect thing to say.

* * *

Brittany is beside herself when i tell her that Theo and I are going to the dance. And then she tells me the supposed good news: Jared, not Miss Miller, is taking us shopping for dresses.

This does not make me happy.

Jared Varen is just some random kid who Miss Miller announced one day, was staying with us "for a while." That apparently, meant one-and-a-half _years._ Honestly, if we didn't take him in, he would probably be in some corner on the side of the road, living in a box. I'm not saying he is useless. (which, to me, he pretty much is) He never was able to get his own apartment, and his parents were killed in some kind of fire. He is seventeen, so he is not legally able to live on his own yet. So of course, Jeanette _has _to dump him on our doorstep, insisting that we will do some good keeping him here. He works part-time in a Cold Storage grocery store, as a cashier. The rest of the time, out overseeing all the Lucky Lou restaurants on the East Coast, which has him eating tons of hotel food and the Burgers Lucky Lou is known for. After a year or so of this, he kind of grew on us, and we have started to think of him as a big brother, or more, a father figure. (in some weird way) Except for me.

It's not that I hate him, or anything, but my relationship with him has alway been a bit... stiff. The problem is, I've always had the feeling that he's embarrassed about the way I look. He's never come right out and said it or anything, but there are subtle things I've noticed over the year. Like when he opens the kitchen cupboard and can't find the cookies or something, he'll always ask me (in an accusatory sort of way) if I know where "they went." The "hey, fatso" is implied.

And he's always pointing out the benefits of exercise when he thinks I'm being a slug, like when I'm watching TV. Which is pretty nervy, considering him, with his round arms and big belly, is not exactly an Adonis. And he loves food even more than I do. He was downright fat as a kid, and even though he lost a ton of weight a million years ago, these days he's not exactly thin enough or fit enough to be doling out advice. And in my defense, I'm not fat. At least, not _that _fat. But he doesn't see it that way.

Naturally, he never, ever, asks Brittany if she's masterminded the cookie's escape or if she finished off the container of ice cream or if she agreed that Jennifer Love Hewitt probably works out. Fortunately, he is hardly ever home. Which is good, since Miss Miller has never once suggested that i had seen the cookies hop on the last train of town. Still, despite my apprehension, on the morning of our shopping day, I arrive downstairs dressed and determined to be cheerful. Brittany is sitting at the table reading the newspaper and Jared is at the stove stirring a giant batch of scrambled eggs with cheese. The fact that Miss Miller has gone grocery shopping at nine in the morning and is not there is extremely suspicious. I must say, this whole go-shopping-for-the-fall-festival-with-Jared thing has her stamp all over it. Every now and then, she decides we're in desperate need of some bonding time, and realizing that both of us would prefer to be with her, she conjures up some excuse, creating a situation where it's either Jared or nobody at all.

By the time I get all set up in the kitchen, the table is being set and Jared is dishing out the eggs.

"None for me, thanks," Brittany says, waving them away. "I'm just going to have toast."

"You feel okay?" Jared asks, concerned.

That's another thing. If I said I didn't want any eggs, he never would have assumed I was sick. Instead, he would have assumed I was dieting and congratulated me on my willpower.

"I just don'w want to be all bloated when I try on dresses," she says.

Jared glances at the eggs he has already dished out on my plate, like, _Uh-oh. _

I'm half expecting him to rush back over and spoons some off my plate, so I take my seat and (even though I'm not hungry in the slightest) shove a giant forkful in my mouth. What he doesn't know is that, unlike Brittany, I don't have to worry about bloat. Yesterday I stopped at the mall in the Inner Harbor and purchased some SPANX Power Panties with Tummy Control. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

* * *

**Done! Hope you enjoyed this one. The next is gonna be funnier, I promise. Sort of. :'D**

**Note that... Jared isn't really important... I want him in here for some kind of change, AGAIN. You'll see why he is there after a while as the story progresses. **

**Jared, Drew, and... any others belong to me.  
****If I mentioned Soron in here anywhere (I don't think I did) he belongs to Periosha.  
Chipmunks belong to ... not me. **

**Review, please! :'D PLEASE!**

**I don't think the world will end in 2012; I have yogurt that expires in 2013. (I watched that movie tonight, it was GREAT!)  
****~Simkaye, who doesn't have a good catchphrase. **


	3. Drama Major in Process

**Omigosh... I can't believe I wasn't on here in about a week! I missed you all... TvT How are you all?  
If you are wondering, I'm just bogged down with homework, studying, and I haven't been feeling all too well so I've been taking a little break. I was thinking about you guys, I swear... :'D**

**Okay, okay, third chapter! *cricket hoots, and Kat stares***

**Anyways, I hope you like this; it's another 'filler' chapter. I'm working on the plot twist chapter (That will be the next chapter, yay!) So stay tuned for chapter four! This one was a bit rushed, two really short chapters kind of put together.  
And make note of Ellie's behavior; She doesn't realize Theo likes her yet... so yes... it might seem like you have to search a bit to find the times he's dropping little hints.**

**Thank Chipmunkfan19 for letting me use DJ in here! :D That's HIS OC! And the Chipmunks/Chippettes don't belong to me.**

**ENJOY. I MEAN IT. (kidding... sort of.)**

* * *

After breakfast I wedge myself into Miss Miller's convertible Cabrio and we drive to the Towson Town Center. Both Jared and I follow Brittany through the mass of stores and into Brittany's favorite, ZARA. Brittany flips through rack after rack like a cranky Simon Cowell dismissing contestants before finally yanking out a bright fuchsia silk dress with spaghetti straps. I can tell it's for me, since Brittany's dresses involve just enough material to dry a wet dish. I can also tell that I already hate the way it looks on me, even though I haven't tried it on yet. "What do you think?" she says.

"I'm not sure about the color," I say, chewing on my thumbnail. Actually, I love bright colors, but everyone knows that they're not slenderizing, so I prefer to stick with basic black, and dark colors.

"I like it," Jared says from behind us.

I accept the dress from Brittany and hug it to my chest and stand there waiting patiently while Brittany pulls several pastel-colored dresses for herself and two more for me, one dark green, and one red. Finally, she takes her seven dresses and I take my three and we head toward the dressing room, where, even though it is really crowded and Brittany sees me naked everyday, I still insist on getting my own room. I don't want Brittany to know about the SPANX, and besides, I have the feeling the dress Brittany chose for me isn't going to work out and I have no intention of humiliating myself any more than necessary.

I walk into the dressing room and lock the door behind me. I take the SPANX out of my purse and step into it, yanking it up slowly. It feels like my butt is an iron vise and a rubber band is wrapped around my belly. I can't help but wonder if it will even be physically possible for me to wear it for more than two seconds. What if I pass out from loss of oxygen?

I start with the black dress first, since it's my official color, not to mention it's the only size thirteen. (The other two are elevens.) I undo the zipper and step into it, pulling it up over my shoulders. So far so good, but the zipper is not up yet. Because of the SPANX, it's impossible to suck in my stomach, so I hold my breath as I twist my arms behind me to pull up the zipper. It gets halfway up and stops. This is a size thirteen? Have I gotten too big to fit into a size thirteen? Even though I suspect the answer is a big fat yes, I'm not ready to admit defeat since that would mean having to take a size fifteen off the rack (although it's doubtful it even comes that big) and having to deal with Jared's look of shock and horror.

I scoot the dress off my shoulders and tug it down. I twist it around and pull up the zipper. Then I wrench it back around, hold my breath one more time, and slowly pull it up. I get it up to my boobs and surrender. It's not even close.

I hear Brittany's door open. "Eleanor," she says. "Come out when you're ready. I want your take on this dress."

I refuse to ask for a bigger size. I've accepted the fact that I'm six sizes bigger than my willowy, slightly-taller-than-me sister, but seven is simply too many. I stick my head out, hiding my body behind the door. I catch a quick glimpse of Brittany in a pink slinky silk dress, holding her golden hear on top of her head and slam the door again. "Love it!" I yell over the door.

"You don't think it makes my stomach look, well, bloated or something?"

"No." In truth, I hadn't had time to notice. I had opened and shut the door so fast my poor overtaxed brain barely had time to register the color of the dress. Still, I found it impossible to believe she could ever look bloated, and even if she did, even if she had a butt that giggled like two overfilled water balloons, it wouldn't mater. With her big beautiful eyes, her button nose, rose-bud mouth, and high-sculpted cheekbones, who cares about a little blubber?

"What about you?" she asks though the crack in the door. "Any luck?"

"The black one made me look really washed out," I say, even though the color is not my problem. Neither is the size. The problem is me.

I glance at the other dress. I appreciate Brittany giving me the benefit of doubt and assuming a size eleven might have a snowball's chance in hell of fitting, but I'm not even sure it's worth the effort. I give a big sigh, yank it off the hanger, and step into it. I manage to pull it up over my belly button before giving up and abandoning ship. I stare at the last dress on its hanger, the fuchsia one with spaghetti straps.

I think about the book with the magical jeans, the ones that look great on every girl in spite of their figure. Maybe, just maybe this is a magical dress. I take the dress off the hanger and right away I notice one good thing: no zipper. I feel the material and realize it's got some rayon in it. Rayon definitely has more give than silk. I suck in and yank it over my head.

The dress is on. I open my eyes and look at myself in the mirror.

_Oh my God!_ It_ is _magical!

"Look at this one," I yell excitedly, throwing open the door.

Brittany inhales deeply at the sight of me and smiles. "Fab-U-Lous!" she agrees.

"I know," I say. I realize it might sound a little conceited, but I don't care. This never happens to me. Ever!

I turn to my side, admiring the view. The SPANX is working perfectly, making my stomach look as if I do fifty sit-ups a day. The dress reveals jus the right amount of cleavage, making my look sexy, but not in a Pamela Anderson sort of way.

"It didn't look like much on the hanger, but it really looks great," Brittany says. "If I were you, I wouldn't even bother trying on anything else."

I grin from ear to ear as I sweep my hair off my shoulders, trying to determine if I would look better with my hair up or down. But when I see how round my cheeks are and how big my nose is, no matter what I do with my hair, I feel my enthusiasm take a sizable blow to the chin.

"Wait 'till Theo sees you," Brittany says.

"You think he'll really care?" I say, letting my hair back down. _Okay, try focusing on the dress and not your face, _I tell myself. This perks me up a bit.

Brittany just shrugs and turns toward the three-way mirror beside her. "So what do you think of this one?" she asks, spinning around.

"It's perfect," I say. Unlike before, this time I actually look at her. Brittany is stunning as usual. "You should definitely get it."

Brittany grabs my hand. Isn't this fun? Dress shopping together?"

"Sure." The amazing thing is, even though this originally had as much appeal to me as a dentist appointment, I am really enjoying this time with my sister.

"Any luck?" Jared asks when we reappear with our chosen dresses in hand.

"Eleanor found one, but I can't decide," Brittany says, lining the dresses up on the rack. Lime green, teal blue, hot pink.

"You found a dress?" he asks me.

Is it must my imagination, or does he sound surprised?

"It's a size eleven," I say, proudly, showing it to him.

"Great," he murmurs, as if he could give a crap. He barely looks at it before turning back toward Brittany's display. "They're all beautiful," Jared says. "Don't you think, Eleanor?"

My heart drops. "Yeah," I say. I fight the urge to shove my dress in front of his nose and demand he show some excitement for my choice.

"I think I'm leaning towards this one," she says, picking up the pink.

"I like the blue one better," I say.

"Oh," Brittany says, but she's still staring at the pink, not even pretending to consider the blue. It's clear she couldn't care less what I think.

"Whichever one you want," Jared says, smiling at her like she just got into Harvard or something.

"I'm going to take the pink," she says finally.

"How about lunch?" I suggest as we follow Jared to the cashier. In spite of Jared's less-than=enthusiastic reaction to my dress, I'm still exited and feel as if a celebration is in order. The restaurant next door to ZARA makes a sandwich called the California Grill – turkey, bacon, and avocado on toasted and buttered bread – that is totally delicious.

"You just had breakfast a couple of hours ago," Jared says as he hands me my white-plastic-wrapped dress. "Don't tell me you're already hungry?"

His insult catches me by surprise. I fight my initial reaction (which is to cry) and my second reaction (which is to grab the gold chain around his neck, rip it off, and slap him silly with it). There's a third reaction too (feed him to a thankful of piranhas), but the pet store is all the way on the opposite end of the mall. "Okay, I won't tell you I'm hungry," I say quietly.

"I think lunch is a great idea," Brittany says, supportively looping her arm around mine. I'm starving."

And even though I know Brittany isn't really hungry and will order a salad of which she will only eat half, I still appreciate the effort.

* * *

Monday afternoon. Fortunately for me, there is one cure-all for depression: Drew Metselaar. And he just happens to be sitting next to me in English class. His hair is kind of tousled in a bad-boy sort of way that makes me want to run my fingers through it, and he's wearing jeans that have a little tear on the right knee. I think about my beautiful fall festival dress and wonder if he will even notice, and if he does, what he will think when he sees me. I know it's a total long shot, but I can't help but fantasize that it will somehow make a difference.

_As I walk into the gym, the crowd parts. No one can believe the transformation. Drew steps out from the crowd. "Holy crap! Eleanor?" he mouths. I smile (regally) and nod as I walk toward him. He shakes Haley off his arm. As she sprawls ungracefully across the floor, he walks toward me (accidentally stepping on her face), his eyes reflecting pure and total adoration…_

"Miss Miller?" Mrs. Bordeaux is saying.

"Huh?"

She sticks her nose in my face. "Welcome back."

"I was just… I thought I saw someone outside." I motion to the window, which is miraculously on the other side of Drew.

"I was just paying you a compliment," she says. "It's a shame you were so distracted you didn't hear it."

Smirks and quiet giggles.

"In any case, I'm willing to repeat it. I've finished grading the pop quiz, and you, Miss Miller, are the only one to get an A. I have come to the conclusion that you are either simply smarter than the rest of the class or you're the only one who actually bothered to keep up with the reading."

I stare at my desk and chew on my thumb as the smirks and giggles are replaced by annoyed, irritated stares, as if I had done well on the test just to teach them all a lesson.

"Perhaps _Miss Miller_ is the only one who has _time _to keep up with the reading," Nancy Abercrombie says snidely. "Most of us are so busy with senior productions and…"

"No excuses!" Mrs. Bordeaux replies, raising her hands to silence her. "Everyone in this school is busy with extracurricular activities."

I sink even further into my chair as I roll my eyes toward the dirty white plaster ceiling. Nancy Abercrombie ahs a lot of nerve, since she is only a sound person, so all she needs to do is flip a switch and hand out the microphones. But still, I can tell from the approving nods that most people agree with her. If I weren't such a loser and had more of a social life, maybe I wouldn't be such a star student. It's enough to make me wish that I hadn't gotten an A.

After class, I'm standing beside my desk pulling a tiny piece of nail out of my mouth when I see Drew walking toward me, his eyes cast over my shoulder in such a fashion that I can almost see why someone might think he was stuck up. But for some reason, I can sense that this is a defense mechanism, like he adverts his gaze so he can seem aloof instead of… afraid.

When this thought sinks in, I whip my thumb out of my mouth. Then my heart speeds up and my hands start to shake, because Drew is standing right in front of me, but not quite looking me in the eyes.

"Thanks for making us all look like idiots," he says, smirking.

My witty retort is "Ha!"

Thankfully, Drew ignores me and pulls a manuscript out of his binder. "You should read this."

"What is it?" I'm acting as thought he just gave me a ring-shaped box tied up with a bow.

"Chris Vicker's play. He's going to start casting next month. I thought you might be interested in reading for it."

"Auditioning?"

"Yeah. Maybe if I get you busy enough, you'll bring down the curve." He gives me a nod and grins before turning on his heel and walking down the hall.

"By the way," I call out after him. "I've decided to go to the fall festival."

"Oh," he says, glancing back over his shoulder at me as he continues to walk in the opposite direction, heading toward the steps.

I look down at the script in my hands. If I weren't intending to frame it, I'd smack it right into my forehead. Why would I think Drew might care that I'm going to the fall festival?

After lunch, I'm on the first floor heading toward production class when I see a small crowd gathering across the hall from the production studio, outside the auditorium. I've always found it a little cruel that the production studio is tucked away in a dank corner of the school, right underneath the cafeteria kitchen and directly across the light-filled hall that leads to the auditorium. I know it makes sense since we're building the sets, and the further we are from the theater, the further we have to drag what in some cases are pretty heavy set designs. But it's torture. There we'd be, covered in sawdust and splattered with paint, walking out of what resembled a giant, cold, windowless garage, practically gasping from the Salisbury steak fumes radiating through the ceiling, and there would be all the drama majors, leaning against the sun-drenched windows looking freshly scrubbed and glamorous, reciting their lines. To make matters worse, the bathrooms where we washed out hands were down the hall, past the dance studio where all the fit little dancers were swirling around in their tights, and past the art studio where all the painters were sketching their Picassos.

I make my way through the crowd of drama majors and have my hand on the door to the production studio when, out of the corner of my eye, I see David Jason Smith, otherwise known as DJ, drop to his knees in front of pretty senior drama major, Michelle Berkowitz. DJ is one of Brittany's friends. He's a natural comedian and troublemaker, who loves the limelight, breaking into song at the strangest times, like in the middle of a fire drill or after an exam. DJ takes Michelle's hand and begins to sing a cappella:

_Oh, Michelle, you are divine,_

_Please, please say you'll be mine._

_Your beauty continually haunts my mind,_

_You are, hands down, one of a kind._

_Say you'll go to the festival with me,_

_And so, so happy, I will be._

"What is going on?" Theodore whispers, nodding toward DJ as he sticks his head out of the production studio.

"DJ asking Michelle Berkowitz to the fall festival," I whisper back. I swipe some sawdust off the top of Theodore's head and move closer to the hubbub to get a better look.

I get there in time to see Michelle nod yes and the small crowd, all ten or so of us who have gathered to watch, erupt into applause. All except for Theo, that is.

"How pathetic," Theodore mutters, doing a little jig in an attempt to dislodge some of the sawdust coating his T-shirt.

"I think it's sweet," I say. "He wrote a song just for her."

Theodore lifts his head at this news, probably thinking I said the stupidest thing in the world. DJ gets off his knees. He blows Michelle a kiss and pats his heart twice. Michelle says something that I can't quite make out and the two of them begin walking toward us. I move out of their way as I say, "Hi, DJ." But even though DJ has been at my house with Brittany and has met me a million times, he doesn't acknowledge me. He just walks right past me, like I'm invisible or something.

"Asshole," Theodore says, when DJ is out of earshot and past the dance studio down the hall.

"Maybe he didn't hear me," I say. A definite possibility. After all, it was kind of a quiet hello. Still, it doesn't feel good to be ignored. I glance down at the script Drew gave me earlier that day, the script I've carried with me everywhere since, and remind myself that my days of being invisible are almost over. Everything will change once I become a drama major.

"Right," Theodore says, sarcastically, seeing through my tiny white lie. "I don't understand. Michelle's a nice girl. Why would she go out with that jerk?"

Before I have a chance to say anything, the auditorium door opens and Theodore's eyes light up like a Christmas tree. It's Yuki Lyan, one of Brittany's best friends. If I had to describe Theodore's ideal woman, Yuki would be it. She's small and short, pretty, but not intimidatingly so. She's a little quieter and more reserved than the rest of Brittany's friends.

I wonder if Theodore would have asked Yuki if I hadn't made him ask me. As much as I want to go to the dance, I know I can't let him make that sacrifice. "You know, Theodore," I say quietly. "You don't have to go to the fall festival with me."

"What's that supposed to mean? What are you talking about, Ellie?" he asks, looking at me.

"I just mean if there's someone else you'd want to take… like _Yuki_…"

"Look, Eleanor," he says as I follow him back toward the production studio, "the only way I'm going to that dance is if you and I go together." And than just to make his point, he picks a hammer up off the work bench and, using it as a microphone, begins to sing loudly, (and super well), "_Eleanor, Eleanor, you are diiiiiiviiiiine. I'm so glad that you will be miiiiiiine…"_

As usual, Theo knows just the right thing to say. Or sing, as the case may be.

* * *

**Hope you liked, as always.**

**Dedication to: BraveTheElements: the one who got me to write this in the first place, and a great friend and supporter.  
Cerulean Pen; AKA Anon. Reviewer Wendy: For being so kind and supportive of me; (finally getting an account) and just being here. Thanks for all your kind reviews!  
**

**Thanks all of you reviewers; I want to thank you all, put your names up here, but I swear, Internet is being so annoying and not letting me open my review page! Seriously... But know I appreciate all of your kind reviews; you make me so happy! I'm sorry if I didn't reply; if you _absolutely_ want me to reply, say so. I read them all, I just can't reply because I'm so busy...**

**Review please?**

**Live and love life,  
****~ Simkaye \(*v*)/**


	4. Watermelon

**I just want to tell you guys that I, Simkaye, am still living! I have been gone for way too long! How are all of you people? Missed you all a bunch! **

**...I owe you a chapter. And a thousand hugs. And a cookie.**

**Here I present to you, the long-awaited... PLOT TWIST!**

* * *

"Eleanor?" my sister says from outside the door. "Are you almost ready?"

"Just a minute," I call out excitedly. It's the day of the fall festival and our house is in a hubbub. The entire upstairs has become official dance headquarters, with makeup and clothes tossed everywhere. I carefully (so as not to mess up my elaborate updo) take my dress off its hanger and shimmy it down. I once again admire the way it clings to my flat, SPANX-covered stomach before I glance back at the mirror, tucking a loose piece of hair behind my ears.

I smile at my reflection. And for the first time in my life I think: _Damn, I look good._

Brittany and I have spent the past four hours getting plucked and primped at the salon, and the results are incredible. My hair is done up in the same elaborate style as Brittany's, with soft ringlets framing my face. My eyebrows have been tweezed into a defined arch and my makeup has been professionally applied.

I open the door and head into the bedroom, where Brittany is admiring her reflection in the full-length mirror on the closet door. She looks like a heroine in one of the romance novels our mom buys at the grocery store: _The soft silk of her pink dress cascaded to the ground, clinging to her slender, yet supple body in all the right places. Her hair was done up in a tight chignon and her beautiful face radiated the subtle knowledge that her every wish would soon come true… _

"You look amazing," Brittany says, nodding approvingly at my reflection as she moves away from the mirror so I can get a better look at myself. I take my place in front of the mirror and touch my fingers to my stiff, sprayed hair as I give the mirror the closed-mouth smile I've been practicing. (My open-mouthed smile makes me look like a donkey.)

"Motherfucking camera! To hell with you!" Jared yells from downstairs. Even though I shouldn't be surprised, Brittany and I both jump in surprise. Brittany begins to giggle, and her laugh is so infectious I begin to laugh, too. Jeanette appears in the doorway.

"What's so funny?" she asks, smiling.

"Sounds like Jared is enjoying his new camera," I say. Brittany starts to laugh again.

Jeanette just ignores us. "You guys both look exhilarating," she says, smiling at us. She of course, can't come to _our _school dance, but she still smiles at both of us admiringly. Her reaction makes me feel even more excited. I don't know about exhilarating, but for the first time in my life, I actually feel just a little bit pretty.

"Come downstairs when you are ready." Jeanette holds up Jared's old camera and winks. "I have a backup."

After Jeanette leaves, Brittany turns back toward the mirror, smoothing the imaginary wrinkles out of her dress before spinning back toward me. Unlike when she usually dresses up, I have no desire to push her in mud. She puts her arm around me and gives me a big hug. "Isn't this great?" she says. "We're doubling to the fall festival."

I look once again at our reflections in the mirror. I wonder if DJ would sing to me if he saw me looking like this. I'm too excited to worry about my closed-mouthed smile. I answer my sister by giving her a toothy smile and a tight squeeze.

Theodore shows up right on time, dressed in a very stylish and expensive-looking black tux with a black bow tie. He looks really good. In fact, I'm pretty sure he was wrong about Yuki. If he asked her to the dance looking like that, he would've been pinning a corsage on her chest instead of mine.

Since it's raining (a cold, steady drizzle that is undoubtedly capable of destroying even the simplest of hairstyles), I'm glad Brittany asked us to ride in the limo with her and Alvin, even if Theodore and I had (privately) made fun of them for renting a limo when the school was only six blocks away. Theodore signals for me to wait while he pops open his umbrella. He holds up the umbrella over to top of my head, minimizing my hair damage. During the ride to school, Theodore bends over backward to be nice to Alvin, whispering something in his ear as he passes over. I don't chomp on my thumb a single time, although at one point I come close, but sop when Brittany smiles at me and winks as she takes my hand, like, _Isn't this great? Maybe we can have a double wedding! _

To limos are already parked in front of the school, so our driver pulls up in front of the church next door. I adjust the black shawl that I borrowed from Miss Miller ad take a deep breath to calm the butterflies doing back flips in my belly. Alvin grabs Brittany's hand and Theodore grabs mine. I follow them into the school and turn to our left, heading in the opposite direction of the production studio, toward the gym. We enter behind Brittany and Alvin and stop, giving ourselves a moment to digest the scene around us. My sister has arranged for the lights to be dimmed, which pretty much means that the janitor had to unscrew every other fluorescent light bulb. The sparkly balls that we made spin and reflect he scenic apple orchard backdrops. In spite of everything though, it still looks (and smells) like a gym. A gym with hanging glittery Styrofoam snowballs and full of dressed-up people. Almost immediately, a crowd of ravishing drama majors envelops Lucy and Alvin. As everyone comments on how amazing the other looks, Theo and I step away from them, shuffling backward as we slowly but surely make our way toward the perimeter of the gym.

"Are you okay?" Theodore asks me quietly. He's staring straight ahead and he looks like he's on high alert, as if he had just managed to give a pack of violent criminals the slip and is concerned they might return any moment to finish us off.

"Uh-huh," I murmur, taking another step backward, so that my butt is actually touching the wall. I'm scared and excited at the same time. I feel like I'm on the ledge of a building and one wrong step may send me plummeting into either a giant vat of fudge ripple ice cream or boiling oil. "What about you?"

"Yeah, sure."

We stand side-by-side for a minute, neither saying a word as we stare at the action around us. The DJ is playing a Beyoncé song and the dance majors have flocked to the dance floor, contorting and spinning around like six-year-olds high on Halloween candy.

Theo and I spend a couple more minutes holding up the wall, watching the dancers. The music turns into a slow song, and the couples pretty much fling themselves into each other' arms. When the song ends, the DJ changes gears once again, lighting up the room with an old disco tune. "Should we dance?" Theo asks.

I look at him and flash him a courageous smile. "We've come too far to turn back."

I drape my shawl over the back of a chair and Theodore and I walk to the dance floor and bravely plant ourselves in the middle of the action. And I suddenly realize something: Theodore and I have never actually danced with each other before. "I'm not a very good dancer," I say, which is putting it mildly.

"You just shake it," Theo says, wiggling his rear end. "And imitate animals." He begins flapping his arms and sticking out his neck like a chicken. I laugh, which only seems to encourage him. He jumps up and down as I stand back, laughing and shaking y head, watching him goof around.

Suddenly, the obviously schizoid DJ throws us a curveball, changing the music back to a slow song. The couples meld together, their hips pressed against each other as they sway back and fourth. I take a step back, as Theodore takes one forward. He sighs, looks at me, and says, "How about some punch?"

Good thinking. Even the stale, chalky, vanilla-flavored boxed cookies they always serve at school events sound like a good idea right now.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Drew with his arm around Haley's waist, heading to the dance floor. He's wearing a black tux and a crisp white shirt. His hair is slicked back, curling up over the sides of his jacket, and his blue eyes look irresistible, almost dangerous. My hands begin to shake as I stand there, unable to take my eyes off him. It's just like in my fantasy. The crowd parts and he begins to walk toward me. He looks up and…

He doesn't notice me.

Not so much as a flicker of recognition, a _don't I know you from some place, _nothing. Nada. Zlich. _Niente. _

"Eleanor?" Theo asks. "Are you okay?"

My brain cranks into overdrive. They're heading toward me and even though there's a chance of him not noticing me, the thought that he could be right next to me and still not see me, is more than I could bear. I have to get out of there. Fast!

"I have to go to the ladies' room," I say to Theodore.

But I'm too late. I have no choice but to walk right past Drew. Even though I'm tempted to throw myself at his feet and confess my love, I force myself to look away from him as I pick up my pace, determined to make this as painless as possible for both of us. Or at least for me.

"Hey, Eleanor," Drew says, greeting me.

I whip my thumb out of my mouth as I stop still, stunned.

"So?" he asks, bringing Haley to a stop so he can talk to me. "What do you think of the dance? Did I steer you wrong?"

He remembered. He remembered that he told me I should come to the dance. "No," I say. And suddenly everything is all right again. Everything is great.

"Come on, Drew," Haley says, as she tugs on his hand, signaling her impatience.

"See you around," Drew says, before following Haley to the dance floor.

As I watch him walk away my insides get warm and gummy as a surge of happiness pumps through me. The crowd may not have parted and he may not have tossed Haley across the gym and stepped on her face, but for reality, it was still pretty darn good.

I practically float the rest of the way to the bathroom. Even though I don't really have to go, I figure I might as well try since I'm halfway there already. I go into the last stall in the empty bathroom and slide the latch over the door. I have my SPANX around my ankles when the bathroom door opens.

"I just feel sorry for her," I hear a girl say. I recognize the voice. It's Alicia Tucker, a senor drama major and a friend of my sister's. "It looks like she poured herself into that dress."

"I know," I hear Brittany respond.

I'm call out to Brittany when I hear her say, "She could've used a bigger size but I didn't have the heart to tell her."

The euphoria I felt only seconds earlier disappears replaced by a queasy uneasiness. Is Brittany talking about me? I yank my SPANX back up and peer through the crack in the door. Brittany and Alicia are standing with their backs to me, admiring their reflections in the mirror as the apply lip-gloss.

She looks like a giant watermelon," Alicia says, smacking her lips.

A _watermelon?_ I glance at my dress. They can't be talking about me. Watermelon is red and green. My dress is fuchsia, kind of purplish red, nothing like the red in watermelon. And there is no green on me whatsoever.

"Actually, I'm surprised she's not wearing a tie," Alicia says. "I don't think I've ever seen her without it. It must just reek."

That settles it. They're definitely not talking about me. Although I wear a blue striped tie almost every day, it's not the same one, for God's sake. I have seven ties. _Seven._

"The truth of the matter is, it's not the dress. She could be wearing the most beautiful dress in the world and it wouldn't make any difference. Not when you look like _that._"

"A nose job would help," Brittany says. "But she doesn't seem to have an interest."

A _nose job_? Say what?

"It's not just the nose," Alicia says. "What's the del with the teeth. Why didn't she ever get braces?"

I stare at the back of my sister's gold-streaked head. I think about how I felt then the hairdresser told her how beautiful she looked with her hair pulled up. _That's my sister, _I thought. I was proud to share her DNA.

"The dentist wouldn't give them to her because she sucked her thumb forever," Brittany says. "He said it was a waste of time until she stopped."

I take my thumb out of my mouth as I put my hand on the stall to steady myself. "Well, she doesn't _still _suck her thumb, does she?" Alicia starts to laugh. Brittany begins to laugh along with Alicia like, _you guessed it!_ Like I still suck my thum.

I flush the toilet, open the stall, and step out.

Brittany stops laughing and her eyes grow wide at the sight of me. "Eleanor," she breathes.

I try to keep my head high as I walk past her and Alicia on my way to the door.

"Wait," Brittany says as she grabs for me, attempting to stop me. At my sister's touch, something inside me snaps. I push her away with all my might, causing her to topple into the bathroom sink. As tears fill my eyes and sobs wrack my body, I slam myself into the bathroom door, knocking it open. I need to get out of there, away from the stupid gym, the stupid dance, my stupid sister.

I run through the gym, barreling my way through the crowd as I head for the door. Students are still arriving but I don't acknowledge anyone. I make my way against the crowd, pushing past them, escaping outside into the darkness and pouring down rain. _How could I have been so stupid as to actually believe I looked good? That a pretty dress and some makeup would make a difference?_

As I stumble down the school steps, the wind whips my skimpy dress around my legs as the rain pelts my face.

_Nothing will ever make a difference, because I will always e ugly, ugly, ugly… _

I run down the crowded sidewalk and past the limos. Within minutes I'm blocks away from the school and alone on the sidewalk as cars speed past me, making their way toward the heart of Federal Hill.

_Ugly, ugly, ugly… _

By the time I get to Cross Street, my elaborate hairstyle is sprayed across my face and over my eyes like some sort of helmet. My dress is soaking wet and clinging to my body. I barely look for cars as I dash into the street, determined to get home as quickly as possible.

_Ugly, ugly, ugly, ug… _

* * *

_"Eleanor," I hear a melodic voice. As if it's whispering in my ear. "Can you hear me?" it asks._

_Everything feels heavy, as if I'm weighted down. I slowly open my eyes. A shadow is leaning over me. "Can you hear me, Ellie? Please… hold on…"_

_I can't see his face, but I can see his clothes are spattered and smeared with something red, like ketchup._

_I can barely breathe. It feels like there's cotton in my mouth, cotton in my nose. Cotton everywhere._

_"I'm so sorry," he says. "It's all my fault. I shouldn't have left you…"_

_I scan the room with my eyes. Everything looks so unfamiliar. I try to focus on the voice._

_"I love you, Eleanor. Don't forget that, okay? I'll never leave you like this again…"_

_Drew? I try to speak, but everything is so heavy._

_"Please, Ellie, I love you. Hold on, please… Hold on…" His voice is fading. I try in my last attempt to make my lips move, but nothing happens._

... I love you too, Drew.

* * *

I see shiny blue walls. Machines. Weird cotton curtains hanging from the wall.

"What…?" I begin, but I stop. I taste something horrible in my mouth, something so salty it makes me gag.

"You were hit by a car. On Cross Street." I recognize my sister's voice.

"Miss Miller…" I mutter. I want Miss Miller. I need her.

"She and Jeanette are talking to te surgeon but they'll be right back. He said that you're lucky, Eleanor, that we're lucky. It could've been much worse. But you're going to be okay. Te doctors say that the worst damage is cosmetic, and they can fix that."

Cosmetic… Doctors… Lucky… The words float in the air, empty and meaningless. "They're going to make you look great, Eleanor. You're going to be okay," my sister says with a sob.

As I look at my sister wailing beside me, her tears spilling down her beautiful face, I suddenly remember. I remember Brittany laughing. I remember the nose, the teeth. The watermelon.

_I'm ugly, ugly, ugly… _

"I'm so sorry," Brittany whispers through her tears, squeezing my hand.  
I close my eyes and the world once again fades away.

* * *

**So, I finally updated, huh? **

**I feel sooo bad for Ellie... I half hated myself for writing this... I have no experience whatsoever about car crashes. I just kind of wrote what I felt like in the end of my surgery. Sort of.**

**To avoid any confusion, no, Ellie was not trying to commit suicide or anything. She just ran into the road not looking. **

**I hope you liked this chapter! I'll have a bit more time on my hands now that I'm finished my surgery. I'm in excruciating pain right now... It's taken me a long time to write this, but I still typed for you guys**  
**I hope you are still reading this, and those who reviewed, I love you guys from the bottom of my heart.**

**NotExactlySuperGirl, ChipmunkFan19, Winddragon 797, Periosha, ChipmunkfanNo.1, Sonnygirl09, lakeeyia, BraveTheElements, Pancakez, ChipmunksChippettes4ever, and Cerulean Pen **

**I think you all know it wasn't really Drew that told Ellie he loved her... \(*v*)/**


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